Adventures in Sitting
by ebfiddler
Summary: The crew lands on Beaumonde for a job.  Turns out legal cargo can be just as dangerous as the illegal kind.  Action/Drama/Romance/Humor.  Mal/Inara, Simon/Kaylee.  Features entire crew.  Second story in series.  Follows A Lion's Mouth.  Please review.
1. Chapter 1

Adventures in Sitting, Part 1

Follows A Lion's Mouth (01).

_An old acquaintance makes a re-appearance, and Simon and Kaylee hit the town._

_A/N: In the episode "Trash," Simon and River hide out of sight from Saffron in the passenger dorms, while everyone else on the crew gets to take a more active role in the caper. "Great," Simon says. "Another exciting adventure in sitting." So, I thought, what if...?_

* * *

><p>It was almost too easy.<p>

Manipulating people had always been easy for her—whether with charm, lies, layers of deceit, or her natural talent for invention—and she played people as easily as a Companion plays a dulcimer. With her curvaceous figure, bright eyes, and insouciant sexiness, she loved playing men especially. She usually had them doing her bidding within ten minutes of trying. So charming her way out of Pegasus Prison and arranging for a transport off world was one of the easier plays she'd made. Most of the prison guards were men, and she hadn't been there more than a week before she'd picked her marks. When the signal came, she was ready.

Yolanda Haymer, her prison record said. She really didn't care much for the name Yolanda, but she had worn it for a while. In this identity she'd become rich (nice, but boring), she'd held a respected position in society (really boring), and she'd been loved unconditionally (boring beyond all belief). She'd tried on dozens of names and identities—Bridgett, Becky, Aisatou—but one of her favorites was Saffron. That was the name she was using when she played Malcolm Reynolds. And it was because of him that she landed in Pegasus Prison.

The first time she played Malcolm Reynolds, what should have been a straightforward kiss-and-drop ship-stealing had been held up by the man's resistance to thinking with his 软绵绵 地 挂 一块肉 ruǎnmiánmián de guà yī kuài ròu. Instead of following the standard pattern of jumping on her and humping on her, he'd treated her to homilies about being strong, advice about standing up for herself. She'd dropped him eventually, but his ship had somehow avoided the net. The next time she'd played him good, leaving him stranded naked in the desert—but that 母狗 mǔgǒu Companion of his had come riding to the rescue. She'd gone to jail, and he'd likely had nothing worse than a sunburn. She hoped it was a sunburn in a sensitive area.

It was the want of success that drew her back. Malcolm Reynolds was a challenge. She loved a challenge. It wasn't the payoff, it was playing the game.

At last the signal came for the play to begin. Her first mark (she thought of him as "Mark") was on shift, and he sprung her lock. She took down the other guards—her other marks—while he released the landlock on the Midge, a long-range interplanetary shuttle. She and Mark climbed aboard and took off. There was no pursuit. She set the course, engaged the autopilot, and headed to the back of the shuttle, where the handsome prison guard lay sprawled on the bed, waiting for her. It was time to give him his reward. She thought she'd start with a kiss.

. . .

He moaned with delight. She laughed. A deep growl came from his throat between flicks of his tongue. A womanly purr arose from deep within her chest as she nibbled his lips and nuzzled his neck. The sounds mingled and settled into a steady pattern of panting and grunting, climbing towards an ecstatic peak.

Mal lay on his back, breathing hard, eyes shut tight as he focused all his energies on the one thing. All rational thought was pushed aside. He groaned and stuffed the pillow over his ears. Didn't do no good. _Gorram ruttin' hell_, he thought. He'd go crazy, listening to this same ballet being danced every ruttin' night—more 'n once every ruttin' night—through the bulkhead separating his bunk from Kaylee's. He'd tried everything—the pillow, wrapping a towel around his head, even meditating fergodsake. He had to do something about sound-proofing. He was glad they were happy, but—gorram!—did they have to do their happy so loudly? It just underscored his own state of deprivation, and most nights it drove him out of his bunk to walk the halls of his ship.

. . .

Now fully dressed, Mal's first stop was the bridge, where River had the watch. "Everything's fine, Captain," she answered, as Mal opened his mouth to ask, "Everything okay here?" so he changed his words to, "Right. Good." Sure, it was a little bit creepy, having a Reader for a pilot, but hey, it was efficient!

_Don't have to be a Reader to know what you're thinking, Captain,_ River thought. _Perfectly obvious what you were going to ask. And it's very efficient._

He walked through the corridor past his own open hatch. Zoe's and Jayne's hatches were closed. Kaylee's hatch was also closed, but the noises issuing forth from it were again reaching a crescendo. He quickened his pace and passed out of range. Next port of call was the engine room, where he caressed the piping with his hands and contemplated the soothing rhythms of the slowly spinning engine. After descending to the lower level to check that all was well, he concluded his tour, as usual, by climbing up the cargo bay stairs toward the shuttle. Inara's shuttle. Her light was on.

. . .

Inara was busy at her cortex screen, making arrangements for their next landfall, when she heard a knock, followed shortly by Mal's voice.

"May I come in?"

She quickly pulled up a window with client profiles to cover up her true business, and froze the cortex screen. "Yes, 请进 qǐng jìn." She gave Mal a welcoming smile. "You're up late."

"I couldn't sleep. Simon and Kaylee are, uh—" He shut his mouth, realizing he couldn't possibly talk about this particular problem, with Inara of all people. "Noise," he mumbled. "You know, I, uh, couldn't sleep." There was an awkward pause while the loaded word "sleep" hung in the air between them. He reached out and picked up one of Inara's beautiful things, bouncing it from hand to hand while speaking. "I saw your light was still on, so I thought I'd—" he glanced toward Inara, and noticed for the first time that she was seated in front of her cortex screen. "What're you doing—lining up clients on Beaumonde?" he asked, far too offhandedly. He'd thought maybe something had changed between them, all they'd gone through with the Operative and Miranda. Well, apparently not, 'cause there she was, settin' up appointments with clients like nothin' had happened. He was unable to disguise how much the notion bothered him. Inara read the emotions playing over Mal's face.

"Not exactly, Mal. But I have made some appointments."

"What kind of appointments?" Mal asked with far more belligerence than he intended.

"Guild business, Mal," she answered, annoyed with him for prying. "It's really not your business."

"Right, it's not my…"

"It has nothing to do with you."

"Nothing to do with me," Mal repeated. He threw down the pretty thing in his hand, and left abruptly.

. . .

Saffron, too, was busy using the cortex, while sitting in the pilot's seat of her stolen ship. Mark lay on the bed in the back of the ship. He might've been asleep. Or unconscious. Or dead. Whatever. Mark didn't concern her anymore. Saffron was checking the "Wanted" bulletins. Sure enough, she found one for "Yolanda Haymer." It gave the details about when and where Yolanda the Escaped Convict was last seen. She studied the picture critically. "Gotta do something about that hair." She eyed the orange prison jumpsuit distastefully. "And—that color makes me look fat."

. . .

Serenity settled like one of the larger and more awkward seabirds on its assigned landing pad at Pedro Docks on Beaumonde. After securing the necessary permissions from port authority, Mal opened the airlock ramp, and he, Zoe, and Jayne set to work off-loading the cargo. Mal was careful to check each crate as it was off-loaded against the still unfamiliar-feeling electronic list. Kaylee and Simon turned up in the cargo bay while River buttoned down the ship from the bridge. They meant to help, Mal reminded himself, as he carefully side-stepped around Kaylee, who had stopped in her tracks to admire Simon's backside as he bent over a crate. Mal saw Zoe smoothly slip past Simon, who had paused to catch Kaylee's eye. Mal kept to his business-like purpose and did his best to steer clear of the crossfire of cupid darts flying between the two. Those two were just gettin' in the way, makin' sheep's eyes at each other and interrupting the smooth flow of things. It was very hard to take that kind of lovey stuff, what with bein' kept up half the night by their gorram _noise_, and what with Inara flying off to bed her "appointments" the second they hit dirt. Mal was almost glad to see Jayne barge right through one of their sweet moments. _Now that's just going too far_, Mal thought angrily, watching Zoe pull up short to avoid Kaylee and Simon kissing over a dropped crate. Simon grabbed the crate and moved off down the gangway, while Kaylee scurried over to the still substantial pile of cargo. This mushiness was adversely affecting the transaction of business aboard his ship, and it had to stop. He strode over to her. "Hey, Kaylee," he began.

"Cap'n!" Kaylee said brightly, looking up at his face with a smile.

The intended reprimand died on his lips. He couldn't find it in himself to dampen that sunny look. So instead he said, "You haven't had a run ashore for a while—you were so busy fixing that buffer panel in Boros that I don't think you once set foot out of the dock yard. Why don't you and the Doc take the morning off, go see the sights?"

"Shiny!" she said, with a look that warmed his heart in spite of himself. "Simon!" she called, "Let's go…" and Mal saw them off the ship as the pair eagerly headed into town. With satisfaction, Mal felt the off-loading take on a smooth and rhythmic flow.

. . .

Saffron guided the Midge into a landing at Pedro Docks, an out-of-the-way berth where the small ship wouldn't be noticed for a while. She shut down, grabbed her bag, and, without even a glance at the recumbent Mark, made an efficient but unhurried exit from the ship.

. . .

Simon and Kaylee headed straight for the main shopping street in the City of New Dunsmuir. Both sides of the crowded avenue were lined with shops selling clothing, electronics, toys, fine food, and just about everything else imaginable. It was not the sort of upscale shopping one found in the Core, Simon reflected, but it was reasonably nice.

"No, really," he reassured Kaylee, "this is much more fun than the Capital City Shopping Triplex on Osiris. The shops there are just filled with...well, _useless _crap." He was rewarded for his words with an approving look from Kaylee. "Expensive useless crap. While here…well, that looks like clothing a person might actually want to wear." They were gazing in a shop window at some well-dressed models. "What do you think?" He tried to make his question casual, but he was eager to hear her answer. He was wondering if he should spend some of his hard-earned money on a present for Kaylee.

Kaylee was admiring the dresses, but was imagining them on someone glamorous—like Inara—or maybe Zoe, if she was ever to wear a dress again. These clothes had _way _too much slink for her. "I dunno, Simon, them swanky things'd get caught in the moving parts of the Trace Compression Block engine pretty easy. But I like the look of _those_—" she indicated a display of men's wear "—don't you?"

Simon eyed the display. Mal might wear those clothes—and even look good in them. Simon just didn't think he could pull off the "well-dressed frontiersman" look. So he answered evasively, "Not a good color for me." And tactfully, he stopped there, because there just wasn't anything about the men's clothing here that suited him.

. . .

Saffron lifted a swanky, slinky dress off the rack and held it up to her chin in front of the mirror. They had the right size, and it was just her color. Mindful of the security cameras and shop clerks, she disabled the anti-shoplifting device on the garment and secreted it in her bag.

. . .

The best shop was the one selling gadgets. Simon eagerly homed in on the "health professionals" section, and began assessing the various gadgets for their usefulness aboard Serenity. Although he'd made vast improvements to the infirmary since it first came under his management, it was still noticeably lacking in diagnostic equipment. Kaylee eyed each gadget like the professional technician she was, examining them to see how they were made and how they worked.

Simon picked up a sleek and snazzy compact electronic device from the shelf of working display models. "Look at this, Kaylee."

She noted the excitement in his voice and gave him an expectant, questioning look.

"It's a portable diagnostic lab. This would be just the thing for the infirmary. It analyzes samples, compares against the medline database of case studies…oh, uh-oh, look at the price." While he spoke, Kaylee picked up a neighboring device, not quite as new and fancy, and looked it over. "Kaylee! What are you doing?" Simon exclaimed in horror as she suddenly cracked open the casing to expose the electronics inside.

Kaylee, completely at ease, took the sleek device out of Simon's hand, opened it up to expose its electronic guts, and compared it with the older model in her hand. "You know," she said, "I think I could probably add another diagnostic port to this one," she indicated the older model, "upgrade the memory, and re-jumper the cortex communication link to a faster setting…The rest is really just a matter of looks—you know, the outer casing."

Simon tried to pick up his jaw from the floor. "The casing?" he echoed lamely.

"You know, they're always doing this, with every kind of machine. Make a few minor modifications inside, re-design the casing, make it look pretty and sell it for twice the price. The old one is nearly the same—and I can afford it," she added with a smile.

. . .

Saffron wore her swanky dress like she'd been born in it, looking every inch a stylish businesswoman. She casually lifted the wallet from a shopper in the crowded electronics store and used his credit account to purchase a portable cortex device. That couple in the health professionals section looked very familiar.

. . .

Holding his precious package, Simon guided Kaylee into a delightful informal café. He steered Kaylee to a table and said, "You wait right here. It's my turn."

Kaylee knew the surprise was going to be wonderful. It was Simon, and he'd just brought her to the fanciest restaurant she'd ever set foot in. Sure enough, in a few minutes he returned carrying a large bowl of fruit—mostly berries—and a couple of forks. She hoped her look expressed even half the delight she was feeling.

They sat and ate in sublime companionship. Simon's pleasure in watching Kaylee sensuously eat a strawberry eclipsed even his glee at having had the brainwave to buy the fruit in the first place.

"These are some of the best berries I ever tasted," Kaylee exclaimed ecstatically. "Simon, what's this one? I don't think I ever seen one on Harvest."

"It's a hodgeberry. They used to grow on the Cambersons' esta—" Simon caught himself "—our neighbor's, back home in Osiris. River and I jumped the fence and went gathering them—we thought they grew wild."

"Let me guess. They was planted a' purpose, and you got in trouble."

Simon grinned.

"It's hard for me to imagine you gettin' into trouble as a boy, you being so polite and all."

"I bet _you_ got into trouble now and then…"

"Got my hide tanned pretty often. I went pickin' huckleberries one time—they actually do grow wild on Harvest. I was supposed to bring 'em home, Mama was gonna make a pie, 'cause we was havin' company comin' for dinner. But I was greedy, an' I just ate 'em up. I thought I'd find more in another berry patch, but the Hickman kids had got there first and the place was cleaned out. I came home with nothin' but one sorry handful of berries. Mama took one look at my face, and she seen all the berry stains. Boy did she ever tan my hide!" Kaylee laughed at the memory. "And the worst of it was, I'd stained my good dress. She made me scrub it out myself, in nothin' but my underwear."

"I can imagine." Simon was thoroughly enjoying the image conjured up by this part of the story (although in his mind's eye, it was a full-grown Kaylee with all her womanly curves, bent over scrubbing in her underwear).

Kaylee gave Simon a playful smack, pleased with the lustful look in his eye. "It weren't even dry when the Grubers came over, and I had to wear a flour sack to dinner with company!" She laughed and turned back to her bowl of fruit.

Simon's smile abruptly vanished. _我是这样一个白痴 __Wǒ shì zhèyàng yī gè báichī_, he thought, as the realization came to him. Her family was so poor she didn't even have another decent dress to wear. He felt like a heel. He'd been brought up with the best of everything, with all the ease and privilege that money could buy. Nothing was ever lacking, that wealth could purchase. A guilty flush stole up his neck.

Kaylee didn't notice his awkwardness. She turned to him, smiling, and said, "Now here's a huckleberry. Open up, let me feed you." She fed it to him with her fork, and Simon swore he could feel the sensuality of the fruit the way Kaylee did. He opened his eyes and turned to her.

"Let me feed _you_."

. . .

Having visited a professional salon for a make-over (with special attention to her hair), Saffron entered the café and ordered a coffee drink. She opened her new leather-bound daily planner and activated the cortex device. That couple eating fruit over there were the same ones she'd seen earlier in the electronics shop, and suddenly she knew where she'd seen them before. Or her, at least. Casually she used her communicator to take a long-range capture of the two. She loaded in the woman's picture and the name of the Firefly transport, and found a match right away. _Kaywinnet Lee Frye. Mechanic. Serenity, Firefly class transport._ The man was not as easy to identify. She ran the facial recognition software on his picture, sipping her coffee drink as the complicated program collated data. A few minutes later a chime let her know that she'd found a few hits. She smiled when she found the closest match was among the "Wanted" bulletins. It was a bulletin dated a few months back. "Simon Tam. Fugitive." She stretched her eyes open a little wider as she took in the amount of reward money offered for his apprehension. The man had been at large—with _that_ kind of price on his head—for long enough. Casually she glanced over at the fruit-eaters. It was not a pleasant look.

. . .

Simon and Kaylee walked hand in hand through the crowd at Pedro Dock. They were blissfully unaware that they had picked up some company. Saffron tailed them from a discrete distance. They approached that ratty-looking bucket of bolts, Serenity. Sure enough, there was Malcolm Reynolds, striding up and down the ramp like the King of Londinium in his flapping brown coat, trailed by his trusty sidekicks. Saffron gave Serenity and its berth a measured look of calculated assessment. Yes, it could be done.

. . .

.

.

.

glossary

软绵绵 地 挂 一块肉 ruǎnmiánmián de guà yī kuài ròu [dangly piece of flesh]

母狗 mǔgǒu [bitch]

请进 qǐng jìn [come in]

_我是这样一个白痴 __Wǒ shì zhèyàng yī gè báichī. __[I'm such an idiot]_

* * *

><p><em>AN: As always, I welcome your comments and reviews._


	2. Chapter 2

Adventures in Sitting, Part 2

Follows A Lion's Mouth (01).

_Some members of the crew see some action…while others see some enforced inaction. Inara spends a good part of the day on her back. It isn't what you think._

_A/N: Regarding the Chinese phrases: I'm not a Chinese speaker and have relied on online translators as well as the words and phrases used in the original series, so apologies to any native speakers who detect howlers. I'd appreciate you sending me a note if you find something that needs fixing in the Chinese department. To me, nothing says, "These characters all speak Chinese as a matter of course" more than using Chinese characters. But...since I and probably most of you don't have good character recognition, or even know how to pronounce most of them, I have adopted a practice of writing the pinyin pronunciation immediately after the characters. In an ideal world, I would provide mouse-over translations of the Chinese, but I haven't figured out if that is even possible here on fanfiction dot net, so you will find all Chinese phrases translated in a glossary at the bottom of each chapter. Hope you enjoy the story._

* * *

><p>Simon and Kaylee walked up the ramp to find the cargo bay nearly empty. Zoe and Jayne unloaded the two very last crates. Mal checked his list.<p>

"You two have a good walkabout?" he asked.

"Yes, it was…delicious." Mal regarded Simon with a quizzical look at his choice of adjective.

"Just shiny, captain!" Kaylee smiled.

River entered the cargo bay, mooning about with an abstracted look, and Mal took advantage of the presence of one and all to announce, "Well, I'm off to line up our next job." Jayne, strapping on his usual sidearms, was ready to accompany Mal. "Kaylee, see to our food and supplies. Make her ready to receive our next cargo. Fuel up and get her ready to fly. Doc, I'm counting on you and River to help out and guard the ship." To River he added, "And take care of your brother. Zoe!" he called.

"Coming, sir," Zoe replied, without her usual briskness.

Mal gave Zoe a sharp look. Had she been tired out by moving all the crates? He'd thought the physical work woulda been helpful, keep her mind from dwelling on loss. He didn't mention it. Instead he asked, "Did Inara say when she'd be back?"

"Not precisely, sir. She said she had several appointments lined up."

Zoe headed out to the mule where Jayne already sat. The Captain followed, trying unsuccessfully to look like it was a matter of indifference to him whether or not Inara had appointments. Zoe had to admit, she hadn't expected Inara to return so readily to the practice of her profession. She felt for her friend—she knew he had hopes although he tried to hide it—but she maintained her silence.

. . .

In a sleek, modern high-rise in the fashionable part of New Dunsmuir, Inara lay on her back in a softly lit room. Sweat glistened on her forehead. Her naked body pressed into the firm but yielding couch, and a soft moan escaped her lips. "More," he said. She felt her hips grind into the couch, and moaned again. "Give me a little more," he said. Again she felt the pressure, and again she moaned. "More, please," he said. The pressure increased until she felt she couldn't bear it, and she gave a great groan. The pressure immediately let up. "Okay, done," said Dr. Sakurai, removing the paddle probe from Inara's abdominal area and replacing the drape. "You really shouldn't have stopped taking the medicine."

Inara relaxed against the rubbery surface of the exam table, watching the numbers and images dance on the display next to the doctor, although she didn't have the medical expertise to interpret their meaning. "I left my House rather…abruptly. I didn't even think to pack an overnight bag. I didn't know I'd be away for this long."

"It's a good thing you were able to refill your prescription on Persephone. Regular treatment is necessary to prevent your condition from deteriorating."

"I understand."

"I anticipated this when I received your wave, and I checked with Dr Schneider. Fortunately, she has an opening and can work you in for amelioration therapy in one hour."

Inara nodded. It was going to be a rough day.

. . .

Not all of the City of New Dunsmuir was sleek and modern. In a far less shiny neighborhood, Saffron walked down a narrow street lined with run-down four-story walk-ups that had seen better days, skirting piles of uncollected refuse. She was still dressed in her nice clothes, which looked a bit out of place, but she walked with the confident air of a monarch returning from a triumphant campaign. Passing an overflowing dumpster and nonchalantly kicking aside a scavenging feline, she stopped at an unremarkable green door, and knocked. After a short pause, during which sounds of clattering metal could be heard, the door opened a crack and a man gazed suspiciously out. Though no longer a youth, he was most definitely not old, and he was handsome in a feral sort of way. His primary asset was his bodily strength, not his brainpan, as Saffron knew very well. He made his living as an enforcer for certain extra-legal business operations based in the Muirhouse section of New Dunsmuir. Yolanda Haymer's social set would have been astonished at her accent as she addressed Fergus.

"这是什么 Zhè shì shénme?" he communicated with his look as much as his words.

"Hi sweetie. It's your wife."

"Where the 地狱 dìyù you been, Becky? You bailed out on me, you—" he began angrily.

"I got pinched, Fergus," she broke in. "I was so worried about you and the lads…"

"The lads got banged to rights. I managed to get away. How'd you—?"

"Past history, Fergus. I'm in a tight spot, and I need your help."

_Huh?_ he thought. She didn't look like to be in a tight spot, nice clothes and all. Less'n she meant that bodice…

"Please, let me in," she said, wiggling her hips in a sexy, suggestive way.

. . .

The interior of Fergus's house was just as crappy as the exterior. He'd swept aside a collection of beer cans in order to open the door, but the place was littered with discarded undershirts, empty tins, and rancid containers of take-out food. Fergus and Saffron—er, "Becky"—sat on the messed up bed, with considerably fewer clothes on, talking.

"…and then he just snatched the booty for hisself. Left me stranded in the desert and took off. He even stole all my clothes!"

Fergus was already angry, but the thought of this 混蛋 húndàn seeing his Becky naked had him livid. "That 混蛋 húndàn saw you naked?"

She nodded. "Then he had the gall to call the feds, tell them _I _was the one stole the laser pistol. I spent months on that penal moon afore I could get away."

Oh, he was so pissed off. _Pissing_ pissed off. He'd make the 混蛋 húndàn pay, if'n he ever met the 狗娘养的 gǒuniángyǎngde.

"I gotta lay low, there's a bulletin out on me. They wanna put me back in prison. But I know how to bang up the 混蛋 húndàn who put me there. It's just your line of work, luve." Fergus seemed a little reluctant, but she knew how to sweeten the pot. "There's money in it, too—a big bounty." He sat up straight. She had his complete attention now. "That 混蛋 húndàn got a ship, and on the ship, he's got—." She held up her shiny new cortex device with the warrant for Simon Tam on display. Fergus wasn't so swift at the reading, but she knew he understood the numeric figures well enough. "Fugitive—Reward" and a figure followed by an absurd number of zeroes was emblazoned clearly across the bottom of the picture. She looked to see that the numbers had registered, then spoke. "This is big time."

"I love you, 宝贝 bǎobèi," Fergus said in a low, husky voice. "Welcome home."

. . .

Mal, flanked by Zoe and Jayne, approached a shiny modern office building in the business district. It looked to be a cut above the surrounding businesses and was labeled with a tasteful sign that read "Holden Bros. Interplanetary Shipping" in Chinese and English. The reception area inside exceeded even the shiny promise of the exterior. It was bright and clean, almost luxurious. In the sunny center atrium, a sparkling fountain splashed and played in the middle of a garden of paradise, complete with fruit trees. Giant framed captures adorned the walls, each one featuring a "beauty shot" of one model or other of sleek, modern spacecraft. Mal loved his ship with a fierce devotion, but even he knew that Serenity would look like the faded belle of yesteryear next to all those shiny captures. Mal and his crew were decidedly the most scruffy-looking things in the whole building. Across the atrium, a receptionist sat behind a broad mahogany counter. She was dressed in neat and fashionable business attire, and clearly had not been constrained to attend to her toilette within the limited means afforded aboard an aging Firefly. She spared a quick, disparaging glance at the three of them, then discovered some urgent business requiring her immediate attention to her desktop sourcebox.

"对不起 Duìbuqǐ…" Mal began, trying to engage her.

She continued her task without acknowledging his presence. Completing it, she asked, "May I help you?" pointedly omitting the "sir."

"I'm here to see Buck Holden."

"_Mister _Holden is not available," she replied, and returned to her sourcebox.

"I have an appointment," Mal stated, more assertively. "Captain Reynolds."

The receptionist eyed Mal skeptically, but set about checking the appointment roster. After a moment she asked, "Malcolm Reynolds?" and Mal nodded. She stood and motioned for them to follow her. "这种方式来 Zhèzhǒngfāngshì lái…" she said, reluctantly adding the courtesy, "…Captain."

. . .

Simon and Kaylee loaded foodstuffs into the lockers and bins of Serenity's galley. The dining area of Serenity always looked lived-in, and at the moment it was cluttered with packages and boxes of choice comestibles, as Simon preferred to think of the various freeze-dried protein packets. The first time Simon had referred to them that way in front of the rest of Serenity's crew, it was Jayne who surprised him by approving the term, saying, "Makes 'em eat better, if'n you think on 'em that way." They methodically sorted and stowed the packages. At last they finished the task, and Simon turned to Kaylee, meaning to take her in his arms and kiss her. She surprised him by wiggling out of range.

"Hold it right there, mister. Can't do that now. Cap'n left me in charge of the ship."

"Well, we've loaded in the food and supplies."

"Right, and now I've got to make her ready to receive cargo, and run a diagnostic in the engine room, make sure she's ready to fly. You just put the infirmary in order, then sit tight. I'll need your help when the Cap'n starts bringin' on the cargo. Now I got work to be done."

. . .

Simon and River stood in the infirmary, which, in contrast to most of the rest of Serenity, was perfectly clean and tidy.

"Everything's already in order," River said, hoisting her trim body up with dancer's grace and sitting on the second infirmary bed. She began swinging her legs.

"It always is," Simon replied. "I don't leave a cluttered workspace. You never know when you're going to need it." He sighed and sat down next to River. "Here we go again. The others are off for some thrilling action, gunplay, hair's-breadth escapes, while we have another exciting adventure in sitting."

. . .

The waiting area was clean, bright, and beautiful, but after nearly two hours there, Mal found the beauty wore a bit thin. Jayne had begun pacing like a caged animal, circling the room and sniffing in the corners as if hoping for a three-course dinner to appear. Zoe had withdrawn into herself, sitting uncomfortably on a designer chair, with an unfocused look on her face. Mal sat in his chair, not exactly relaxed, but trying not to betray any edginess—leastaways, not in the undignified way Jayne was doing. He eyed the clock again and watched Jayne for entertainment. On his seventh circuit, Jayne paused in his pacing again to examine with disgust a refreshment table in the far corner. It was stocked with healthy vitamin drinks, bland multigrain crackers, and other foods of the kind that were marketed to dieting middle-aged women.

"Ain't even nothin' to eat here but this 废物 fèiwù. Least they could do is give us somethin' a person could eat, leave us sittin' here on our span 屁股 pìgu all this time."

Zoe looked up, and Mal noted with some amusement that she was actually eating some of the crackers.

"They're just keepin' us waiting to show how important they are, Jayne. It's part of their game. Holden Boys run a 'respectable' shop." Mal glanced over at Zoe, sharing an untold tale with a flick of his eyes. "Must be feeling pretty important today."

Finally, the door opened and Mr Holden's secretary entered. "Mr Holden is ready to see you, sir."

. . .

The secretary ushered Mal, Zoe, and Jayne into Mr Holden's office. Holden stood behind his desk, flanked by a rather muscular and imposing-looking man whom he introduced as his executive assistant, Geordie. Geordie had altogether too much physical presence for a man with an office job, and was clearly Holden's enforcer as well as his aide. The office was spacious, bright, and clean, with bookshelves, a sitting area, sideboard with refreshments, and a large number of potted plants, as well as the obligatory desk and chairs. Holden shook hands with Mal and Zoe, and somewhat more reluctantly acknowledged Jayne. He motioned for them to be seated. Mal sat, while Zoe and Jayne remained standing behind him. Holden sat, with Geordie standing at his side. Holden's manner was blustery, even a bit pushy. He seemed to be enjoying throwing his weight around.

"Glad to see you arrived on schedule this time, Captain Reynolds," Holden said, making no apology for keeping them waiting.

"We aim to provide reliable transport service, Mr Holden," Mal replied. Ordinarily he would call Holden by his nickname, Buck, but something was off, and he kept to a more formal, distant manner, following Holden's unspoken cues.

"Reliable is the key element, Captain. I have cargo that needs to arrive intact, in a timely manner. I want no delays at customs, no run-ins with tariff collectors, no encounters with the law…" He looked pointedly at Mal. Did he somehow hear about their recent encounter with the law near the Lion's Mouth?

"We fly clean and quick…" Mal began.

"And within the law?" Holden shared a significant look with Geordie. Geordie smirked a bit. Geordie knew the type. This crew was just another group of petty smugglers angling for a legal cargo this time to clean up their reps.

"…In fact, I've just renewed all Serenity's licenses and registrations," Mal continued. "Just got a clean inspection. We got nothin' to hide. I'm lookin' for legal cargo—" He realized he'd made a bad choice of words.

"_All _our dealings are in legal cargo," Holden snapped. Though he wouldn't show it on his face, Mal was privately amused. Sure, Holden always dealt in legal cargo. What he didn't say was that although the cargo itself might be legal, Holden oftentimes looked to ship it illegally. Hell, it was Buck Holden himself who corrupted Mal off his straight-arrow path, initiating him into the smuggling trade with his first run of uncustomed goods. Now Holden was well up on his high horse. "Holden Brothers is an honest operation, a leader in the Beaumonde merchant community, a pillar of—"

"Then what're you doin' talkin' to us?" Jayne cut in.

Mal shot Jayne the Look, shutting him up. He turned back to Holden and looked him dead in the eye. "I'll spare you the touching details. But let's just say I've decided it's time to straighten up and fly right."

Holden eyed Mal for a moment, then turned to Geordie. "Go look for a 蹩脚 biéjiǎo job to assign this 低级 dījí crew," he said, _sotto voce_. "Check the assignment files under the heading 'Border Moon Operations.' Take your _time._" Geordie chuckled in appreciation of his boss's humor. He'd kept these people waiting for hours already. Let them cool their heels a bit longer.

Mal didn't hear what passed between Holden and his enforcer, but he had a notion. He watched Geordie out of the office and then spoke. "Let me remind you that I'm here at your invitation."

Holden's manner had abruptly changed. He motioned for Mal to stand and silently directed them all to the potted plant sector of his spacious office. Some of the pots contained fruit trees, and Jayne hungrily eyed—and fingered—a perfectly ripe peach hanging from one of the branches. Holden spoke quietly and quickly.

"They can't overhear us in this part of the office. Fact is, Mal, I need a favor."

"A favor? You make me wait for two hours, abuse me in front of your staff, and now you're asking me for a favor?"

"Had to, Mal. There's a mole. Someone on my staff has been sending confidential information on our most sensitive shipments. One way or another, they get intercepted, confiscated, impounded, or just…lost somewhere out in the Black. I can't trust the office staff. I can't even trust Geordie. Only one I still trust is my brother Jack." He looked hopefully at Mal. "The shipment I'd like you to carry is high priority and _extremely _sensitive…"

"Why me? Didn't you try Wang, Renshaw?…Monty could do this."

"Last three attempts to deliver ended in disaster. Wang got pinched. Monty had to abandon the goods on Paquin and just barely got away with his life. Renshaw sailed out into the black eight weeks ago and hasn't been seen or heard from since."

"What's the difficulty with this cargo?" Mal asked bluntly.

"Mal, I don't know how much you're aware of the movements of the established players in interplanetary shipping…" Mal really wasn't interested in a lecture on corporations, politics, and the economics of interplanetary shipping, but as Holden continued, he began to pay attention in spite of himself. "…Blue Sun Corporation is moving more and more into the actual shipping of the goods they produce, and lord knows they produce just about everything, from terraforming equipment to fruity oaty bars. They're angling for an exclusive concession on this planet from the government. If they get it, they'll squeeze all the independent shippers out of business."

"Ain't a monopoly illegal?" Zoe asked.

"Never liked that game," grumbled Jayne.

"They have dozens, even hundreds, of subdivisions. They make it look like they're all competing with each other, but there's one faceless conglomerate pulling all the strings. Blue Sun has all kinds roots and branches—they're _everywhere_, you can't even tell it's them. It's the little ones you don't see that have the teeth." Buck Holden was sounding an awful lot like River, minus the crazy-eyed stare, Mal thought. "They come out of the black and bite you when you're least expecting it."

"You're really making me want this job," Mal stated with undisguised sarcasm.

Holden continued as if he hadn't heard. "You're really my last hope, Mal."

"Sounds like you're asking me to fight a fight I can't win."

"Yeah, well, you're known for that."

"Hmmf." Mal was amused in spite of himself.

"We've packed it in a shipment of terraforming equipment for cover—perfectly legal, tariff pre-paid, I'll give you the papers. Only my receiving agent on 尘球 Chén Qiú will know which crate contains the real cargo. You'll pick up the crates from my 'safe' warehouse—here's the location," he said, slipping a code card into Mal's hand.

"Can you trust your agent not to be on the take with Blue Sun?" Mal asked.

"It's my brother Jack," Buck Holden answered.

Mal knew then that this job was Buck Holden's highest priority, and that he had Buck's complete trust. He stood very well with Holden Boys at present. That was why Buck was willing to shower him with money while asking him to take on this very dangerous job. "This won't be easy, Buck."

"I don't expect it will. Here's your advance, untraceable platinum. Jack will pay you the rest upon delivery. Plus the legitimate buyer will pay you direct for the terraforming gear, market price. Fly soft, keep under the radar. I'm counting on you, Mal." He shook Mal's hand and led the way back towards the executive side of the room. "Now, it's time to throw you out."

Mal gave him a puzzled look, but Holden quickly explained in a whisper, "Put on a show for the mole." He touched a comm link and raised his voice, resuming his former overbearing manner. "Don't ever make me an offer like that you 低级 dījí scum! I wouldn't trust you with a cargo of junkyard scrap on that bucket of bolts you fly! Geordie!" Geordie appeared at the office door. "Show these people the door!"

. . .

Geordie and two other well-dressed enforcers pushed Zoe, Jayne, and Mal out the front door of the Holden Brothers building. Jayne brushed off their hands like the contact was contaminating, while Zoe held her balance. Mal sprawled in the dust. Jayne looked down at him scornfully. Never thought the Captain was such a weakling. Mal met his look, and stared right back. "Just givin' them a good show, Jayne."

. . .

The cargo was bulky, and it took several trips back and forth on the mule to get most of it loaded. Serenity's cargo bay was now about two-thirds filled with large crates as high as a person, set in rows with aisles between them. While Mal, Zoe, and Jayne headed off on the mule for the last load, Simon and Kaylee worked their way through the cargo, strapping down the crates and securing them to grommets in the deck. As Kaylee emerged from one of the aisles, where Simon was still busy securing a crate, she saw a muscular man dressed like a cop ascend the ramp, accompanied by three big bruising fellas, also in cop gear. The muscular cop spoke. "This your ship?"

"I'm duty officer. May I help you?"

"We received a tip, there may be something unlegal on board this here…uh…ship."

He wasn't very well-spoken for a cop, Kaylee thought vaguely, but she had no choice but to answer to the law. "I don't think—" she began. She was confused. Mal told her it was legal cargo. On the other hand, they'd so often had illegal cargo, that maybe there was something to hide. "Captain said it was all…I think the Captain's got papers on it. He should be back in a few minutes with the last consignment."

The cop guy gave her a suspicious look. "Mind if we take a look around?"

Kaylee nodded her consent, 'cause he wasn't really asking. The bruisers were already fanning out, starting a search pattern among the crates in the cargo bay, weapons at the ready.

Finished bending and tugging straps into place, Simon straightened up to find he was looking right into the barrel of a gun. He heard the ominous sound of the safety clicking off. "Son of a bi—"

. . .

.

.

.

glossary

这是什么 Zhè shì shénme [What the hell, lit. What is this]

地狱 dìyù [hell]

混蛋 húndàn [bastard]

狗娘养的 gǒuniángyǎngde [son of a bitch]

对不起 Duìbuqǐ [Excuse me]

这种方式来 Zhèzhǒngfāngshì lái [Come this way]

废物 fèiwù [garbage]

屁股 pìgu [asses]

蹩脚 biéjiǎo [crappy]

低级 dījí [low-brow]

尘球 Chén Qiú [name of a world invented for purposes of this story, lit. ball of dust]

低级 dījí [low-life]

* * *

><p><em>AN: Reviews are much appreciated!_


	3. Chapter 3

Adventures in Sitting, Part 3

Follows A Lion's Mouth.

_Action! Romance! Mal does some thinking, and Jayne delivers a lecture on sexual morality._

_A/N: Contains a shout-out to cliosmuse and her excellent fanfic "Something to Think On"-which explores in depth the relationship between Mal and Inara. Highly recommended if you haven't read it yet. _

* * *

><p>"That's the last of 'em, Mal," Jayne said, as Mal secured the last three crates to the back of the mule. He climbed into the seat.<p>

"Take us back to the ship, Zoe." Mal climbed aboard as well. "I hope Inara's 'appointments' are moving through her bed quickly," he said with a bitter tone, unable to avoid thinking of the 'short interval.' "Won't be long before we're loaded up and ready to fly."

. . .

She'd spent most of the day lying naked on her back moaning, Inara thought, as she stared at the ceiling. Unlike Dr Sakurai's, Dr Schneider's room had a scalloped pattern on the ceiling. In her line of work, Inara had had cause to contemplate any number of ceilings. Ceilings reflected purpose. Square tile ceilings in square tile offices. Rich red draperies in her shuttle. Denticulations, egg-and-dart, bead-and-reel, pineapple cornices in the storied academic world. Fat, naked rococo cherubs painted in the playrooms of the Core wealthy. Ordered geometric patterns, tessellations extending to infinity and beyond, in the hilltop palaces of the powerful. Here, the scalloped turnings reflected waves, waves of pain that washed over and through her as Dr Schneider worked the complicated machine. Lots of prodding and probing, a few needles and cold exam tables. Dr Schneider's serious, severe face reflected sympathy for her patient. No one enjoyed amelioration therapy.

A while later, Inara sat up on the exam table in a hospital gown. Without any conscious effort, she managed to look beautiful even in a shapeless paper dress, but by this time of day she also looked more than a little drained. She tuned her attention to Dr Schneider's speech. "…and schedule your next treatment as soon as you know you'll be planetside."

"That could be weeks," Inara said.

Dr Schneider's face reflected serious concern. "It's your health and safety, your career—and even your life—at stake. You'll need at least two more treatments within the next eight weeks."

. . .

After seeing Fergus and the lads off, Saffron left Muirhouse and stopped in at the cache. She changed into appropriate clothing, and gathered her equipment. Saffron's mission was not that difficult, given the right tools. She always made a point of bringing the right tools to do the job. Whether it was a filament stripper, adhesive fusers, or sedative lipstick, she knew it was important to be prepared. She did her homework. This time she had some new toys, ones she hadn't ever been allowed to play with before. She smiled, with sly triumph. Few people got to play with these toys, especially these days.

The timing was critical. To win the game—_really_ win—she had to time it perfectly. To win the game she had to beat the clock.

. . .

Simon stood in Serenity's cargo bay with his hands in the air, while the thuggish cops frisked him for weapons. And roughed him up. One of the bruisers held Kaylee. She was too fearful to struggle, but Simon wouldn't stop talking. It was his best option.

"Officer, you're making a mistake. There is no current warrant for my arrest. If you'll allow me to get the notice of rescindment…"

"You're not going anywhere. In fact you'll be settin' in a nice jail cell for a good long while. You been on the most wanted list for more 'n a year."

Simon became aware of River slowly, silently stepping onto the catwalk. She had an absent air, but Simon knew without looking that she was assessing the situation, doing the math. Careful not to acknowledge her presence, Simon continued his rant. "That warrant's out of date! Haven't you been listening?" _Keep the man riled, keep his attention on you_, Simon thought. Luckily, he had a natural talent for antagonizing people. It was easy, really, to let his words and body language imply that he thought this officer was, at best, incompetent. "You'd be making an unwarranted arrest."

"Look here, you 流氓谁的话太多liúmáng shéi dehuà tàiduō. I don't know what you mean with your 'unwarranted warrant' but you better get your 屁股 pìgu moving—now!"

Simon stood his ground. "Show me the warrant."

. . .

As the mule pulled away from the warehouse with the last crates aboard, Mal's earwig crackled to life. He listened to the brief report, then spoke to Jayne and Zoe. "That was River. Seems we got ourselves a situation back on Serenity." Zoe sped up, while Mal and Jayne readied their weapons.

. . .

She was bold, she was stealthy, she was fearless, she was strong—she had no head for heights. _糟糕 Zāogāo. __Don't look down._ She grabbed the bar, tried to pull herself up, scrambled to a foothold, and used her legs to propel herself upward. _Don't look down._

_. . ._

"Show you the—?" repeated the thug.

"I'll come with you, but first show me the warrant." By now, Simon had figured out this "policeman" wasn't legitimate, and he spoke with a bold assurance.

Fergus was a little off-balance. He'd been prepared for some resistance, but nothin' he couldn't overpower, weak fella like this. But _all_ this talking. He had no idea what to make of the man's apparent cooperation.

"I'm not resisting arrest. I just need assurance that you're acting within your jurisdiction. Why don't you have your badge on display?"

Fergus barely had time to register one "huh?" on the thinking scale before Simon spoke again.

"Why didn't you do a retinal scan to ID me? Isn't that standard procedure? How do you even know you have the right man?" Simon was aware of River's silent movements along the catwalk, as she positioned herself above the spot where Kaylee was held by the bruiser. _Keep their attention,_ Simon thought. _Keep their attention here, or on Kaylee._ "You haven't read me my rights. In fact, you haven't followed standard police procedure in any way." The head thug and his bruisers were getting nervous. Simon judged it was about time to act, and chose his moment as one bruiser made a threatening motion toward Kaylee. "You leave her alone! You've got no business with her, if I'm what you came for."

This was sufficient distraction. The head thug and all the bruisers momentarily looked at Kaylee. Simon punched and kicked his man, just as River swung down from the catwalk, quickly knocking out the bruiser holding Kaylee. The other bruisers reacted, attacking River, who knocked them out almost simultaneously without looking, with one kick behind her and a punch to the side. With his thug distracted by the action behind him, Simon was able to get the advantage, and used his medical knowledge rather than brawn to render the man unconscious. Just as he dropped his man, Mal, Zoe, and Jayne tore up on the mule, sprung off it with weapons drawn, and fanned out up the cargo ramp in covered positions, like the perfectly trained assault team they were. They held their positions for a moment, contemplating the four thugs sprawled out cold on the deck.

Mal finally spoke. "Looks like the situation is under control."

. . .

It required some very rapid work, and split-second timing. She got it done. _That girl is a wonder. She gets it done. _Hanging from the lowest rail, she dropped to the ground and rolled out of sight. Mission accomplished.

Or at least phase one. Time to clean up.

. . .

They disarmed and tied up the unconscious thugs, who began to stir as they finished loading on the cargo. Mal addressed a few choice words to the thugs, to encourage them to do the right thing, and as he was well-supported by Zoe and Jayne, bristling with weaponry, the fellas took his message to heart. "…Now get the hell off my ship," Mal concluded, and Serenity took off, leaving the thugs in the dust of Pedro Docks. Soon Beaumonde was far behind them, and most of the crew gathered in the dining room as River piloted Serenity through the black.

"Inara made her appearance yet?" Mal asked the room in general.

It was Kaylee who answered. "She's still in her shuttle, resting up and making herself presentable after all her appointments."

Mal scowled at the reminder of Inara's "appointments."

Jayne spoke up. "Speakin' o' which, hey, Doc. Need you to give me more of them pills. Gonna get sexed next time we hit planetside for longer 'n a four hour drop—"

"Jayne!" admonished Kaylee in a shocked voice.

"—spent half of it sittin' on our 屁股 pìgu in a gorram office building, no chance to get me some—"

Simon rolled his eyes. Zoe exhaled with a snort.

"What? Don't you think I know how to behave decent?" Jayne demanded, turning on Simon. "Didn't your momma never teach you that a decent man don't go around the 'Verse plantin' his seed in women what aren't willin' to have his child?"

"No, Jayne, I didn't say—" Simon began.

Mal was quite amused by this bit of theatre. Jayne, settin' himself up as the lecturer on sexual responsibility and morality.

"My momma always said, it's a man's responsibility to protect the woman he's with. It's just common sense, not to go givin' nor gettin' no STD's. And if a man ain't plannin' on stickin' around to be a father, he ain't got no call to be makin' no babies neither."

"Always the responsible man you are, Jayne." Mal folded his arms and rocked back on his heels, letting his amusement show in his eyes but not on his face.

"Damn straight. Responsible and considerate. I ain't no monster like that fella Burgess what knocked up that whore at Heart o' Gold, when she weren't lookin' to be a mother…"

Mal blinked from humorous to humorless in an instant, with a very dark look shadowing his face at the mention of Burgess. Memories of Nandi and a feeling of crushing responsibility for her death weighed upon him. Zoe immediately noticed.

"闭嘴 Bìzuǐ!" she hissed to Jayne.

"Wha—?"

With her eyes, Zoe directed his attention to Mal. The Captain threw his empty mug down on the dining table and stalked out of the room, heading down the corridor towards his bunk.

"Weren't talkin' about Mal," Jayne said to the silent glares of the remaining three.

. . .

Mal sat heavily on his bed and exhaled roughly. He had a way of getting people killed. Nandi, for one. He tried to help. She'd trusted him. His protection amounted to saving her business at the cost of her life. Wash. Book. Both had relied on him to make the right decisions, and both ended up dead. Everybody he cared about ended up dead. He'd spent the night with Nandi. Should have been with Inara, but she wouldn't touch him with a ten foot pole. She knew better than to have to do with him. People who got close to him ended up dead.

Inara. What did she mean? What did she want from him? After Miranda, he thought she'd come a little closer. She'd fought alongside the crew of Serenity. When he asked, she didn't want to go back to the Training House. She hadn't shown any interest in taking clients…until today. He'd almost thought….Well, didn't matter much what he thought, now, did it? None of it meant a damn thing.

Thing was, he couldn't leave it there, not anymore. He wanted it to mean something. He wanted…he wanted everything. Wanted to give her everything he had. Expected everything in return. There were times when he thought it might work, when he thought she understood. But more often, he felt he'd been a fool for even cherishing the meager hope that she'd stay on Serenity. That she'd not leave again.

He looked over at the desk. One corner of it was occupied by a little clutter of objects, each insignificant on its own, each one loaded with meaning for him. A button from one of her gowns that he'd found in the cargo bay. A folded scarf he'd filched from the trunk of sundries she'd left behind, covered in her scent. A scrap of paper he'd salvaged from the recycle bin with calligraphy in her hand. And a capture Kaylee had made, when Inara was packing to leave. He picked it up, held it in his hand, and let it play through, feeling the bitter stronger than the sweet. "That man doesn't know what he wants," Inara-in-the-capture said. But he did know. He wanted a serious relationship. The kind that led somewhere. Not just fun and games—well, okay, he wanted that too—but not _just_ romping and a quick roll in the hay. He wanted a partner in life, a mate. Someone to share the bad times as well as the good, someone to love and protect and cherish, someone who would put up with him—mean, ornery, bad man as he was. Who would see him through when he got shot and stabbed. Who would stand by him, even when he was wrong. Someone he could love and honor and respect. To have and to hold. 'Til the final parting wrought only by death. He wanted marriage. And he wanted Inara.

_Were those two irreconcilable?_ he wondered. He'd never heard tell of a married Companion. Then again, he reckoned he didn't really know so much about the life-ways of Companion folk. Most of what he knew of Companions he'd learned from Inara herownself, and he knew enough by now to figure that Inara wasn't a typical Companion. If she was, she wouldn't never have been on his ship in the first place. She was a Companion, but she was also a woman. All those years of Companion training hadn't removed the woman at the core of her. The essential woman was still there—he knew it, he'd caught glimpses. But how to reach her—wrapped up as she was in all those layers of Companionship. How to find the way through that carefully constructed wall, that was the problem. Ought to be possible, to reach the woman inside. And women—women loved, married, raised families all the time. Weren't impossible. Besides, hadn't he done the impossible before?

He felt mighty, at least he did for long enough to climb the ladder and reach the cargo bay, and there he paused, gazing out over the crates that filled the vast dark space. If the bridge was his place for thinking and his bunk was his place for brooding (sounded better than sulking), the cargo bay was his place for truthsomeness. It was as he stood on the lower catwalk leaning on the rail, that the truthsomeness of the situation hit him. What kind of crazy 傻瓜 shǎguā was he, thinking marriage thoughts about Inara? What could he possibly say? "Marry me and I'll try not to get us blown up in the next month." Or how about, "Marry me, and you can share my jail cell next time I get pinched?" Or maybe, "Marry me, and I'll see to it you won't starve—for this week anyhow." He snorted with self-derisive laughter. What the hell was he thinking? Inara wouldn't ever marry him. He didn't have nothin' to offer. Let the word "marriage" pass his lips and like as not she'd pack up and get gone afore he could even complete the sentence. Marriage was not never an option.

And then there were those clients. Or those gorram _appointments_, or whatever the 地狱 dìyù she was callin' 'em now.

As he stood there leaning on the rail, the shuttle door slid open. Mal looked up and saw Inara haloed in the light, looking beautiful, vulnerable, and…innocent. He caught his breath and his heart beat faster. How was it she could do this to him? She smiled at him, and suddenly nothing else mattered.

"I understand I missed some excitement." She descended toward him, still smiling.

"You missed a bit of action," he replied, a smile in his voice. "It seems flying legal cargo is just as dangerous as smuggling." Then he remembered her appointments. His unhappiness descended with a thud. When he next spoke, the sarcastic edge in his voice cut through the smile. "How were all those appointments? Have fun? Were they rich young appointments with stamina?"

"I wasn't seeing clients, Mal," she explained patiently. "It was Guild business. And honestly, they were awful. Painful, even. Not an experience I want to repeat. Though I think I'll have to," she added, almost to herself.

Mal was surprised. She was trying to explain, instead of just telling him to mind his own business. Did she feel…? For one unguarded moment, wild happiness showed on his face. Inara gave him a penetrating glance. Quickly he reigned in his happiness: wouldn't do to appear happy she was in pain. "The appointments were awful? Sorry you had to…" he blathered in some confusion.

"Mal," Inara began, "I may need to leave the ship. I…" She hesitated.

Last time, Mal had let her speak her piece. Nandi died at the Heart of Gold, and he had let Inara go, to his great regret. He wouldn't let it happen again. Decision made. He'd risk it all. He cut her off. "Don't."

"Don't what?"

"Don't leave." He broke eye contact, looked down a moment, and raised his eyes to hers again. "I…I don't think I could take it, losing you again." Inara said nothing, but gave him a look. What he saw in her face gave him enough encouragement to go on. "When you came back, Inara—back to Serenity, before Miranda—I told you that I got no rudder, that you spin me about. But that ain't quite it. You spin me the direction I need to go. You _are _my rudder, keep me from bein' on the drift. Inara, you make me a better man. I'm asking you to stay." He took her hand and said, very quietly, "I don't think I could go on without you."

It was hard to read Inara's expression. Joy and sorrow, mixed together. But not anger. Not scorn. So he kept talking. "You know who I am, what I am…"

He was watching her as he spoke and saw uncertainty cross her face. "Mal, I— " she began.

He interrupted again. "I know I'm not any kind of catch…Hell, all I got is this ship and what you see in front of you. But everything I got…everything I am…" His throat felt constricted, it was hard to speak, but there was no way he'd leave it unsaid. "My heart, my love—it all belongs to you…if you want," he added, humbly.

She took his other hand in hers, and said simply, "Oh, Mal!" but it was accompanied by such a look as he would never forget. They moved closer as naturally as the force of gravity draws two heavenly bodies into orbit round each other, and their lips met in a promise of love. Their first kiss was passionate and heartfelt.

. . .

哎呀 Āiyā he missed Shepherd Book. Shepherd woulda had wise words to say, when Mal bolted outta the dining room. Woulda known what to say to Zoe about Wash. Woulda known what to do 'bout River flyin' the ship, when it was clear as daylight she was a crazy killer woman belonged in a bughouse. Woulda known how to knock the Doc down a peg or two, pretendin' to be all proper and above it all when him and Kaylee were doin' the hot monkey love on every flat surface of the ship. But most of all, Jayne missed his weightlifting sessions with the Shepherd. Man always was willin' to spot him a few sets. Always had somethin' to say that was worth hearin' even if he wouldn't spill about his mysterious past. Wasn't all preachy like you'd expect from a preacher. Jayne wished Book was here right now. Jayne tossed a towel over his shoulder and crossed the dining room. Fat chance, he thought, but he asked anyways. "Anybody want to spot me a few sets?"

Nobody said a word, but he nearly ran into Zoe, who was blocking his way to the cargo bay.

"Jayne!" she warned, in her commander voice. "Don't go down there."

"Wha—huh?" _Why the hell not?_

"Not now, Jayne," she said, with a significant look.

. . .

They'd barely moved, but they'd traveled far. From their first pledge of love, they scaled heights of passion, knowing each other with lips, hands, and tongues. They were alone in the 'Verse, together and complete, kissing, kissing, kissing.

. . .

Simon sat next to Kaylee in the dining area lounge and watched in awe as she performed her own brand of surgery on the portable diagnostic lab. It looked like an operation gone haywire. The patient's electronic guts were spread all over the low table, hemorrhaging microchips. She inserted an IV line of wiring. Choosing carefully from her array of surgical tools, she connected a motherboard that she had reconfigured herself. She stanched the flow of silicone oil, snapped the casing shut, and turned to Simon with a smile. "That oughta do it."

Simon began to rise from his seat. "I can't wait to try it. I think I'll go right down to the infirmary and—"

"Stay with me, Simon," Kaylee said invitingly, not moving from her seat in the slightest.

"Shouldn't I check it out?" He should, right? She'd just fixed it up for him, right? He should show his appreciation by using it, right?

"Don't be such a boob," Kaylee said. "You're stayin' right here." She pulled him right onto her lap, and he abandoned any thought of going anywhere.

. . .

Kissing, touching, locked in an embrace that constantly shifted yet never was broken,

Mal and Inara had somehow managed to migrate up the catwalk stairs to Inara's shuttle door. He cupped his hands gently around Inara's face, tenderly kissing her forehead, eyelids, cheekbones, fluttering a row of kisses along the line of her jaw as she sighed his name over and over. Her hands moved over the muscles of Mal's back, exploring the contours of his shoulders, running up and down his spine, her electric touch making him shiver. Nuzzling his neck, she placed her hand over his heart, and felt its rapid pulse, beating for her. He kissed his way down to her clavicle, tracing the neckline of her dress with his lips. His hands explored the small of her back, moved downwards. One of them tripped the switch that activated the door, and it slid shut behind them with a soft hiss. The music of the starry black sky filled their ears.

. . .

River looked out over the softly blinking flight desk and listened to the music of the starry black. Her face reflected pure happiness. Joy. Serenity.

. . .

.

.

.

_fin_

glossary

流氓谁的话太多liúmáng shéi dehuà tàiduō [talkative jerk]

屁股 pìgu [ass]

糟糕 Zāogāo [Crap]

屁股 pìgu [asses]

闭嘴! Bìzuǐ! [Shut up!]

傻瓜 shǎguā [idiot]

地狱 dìyù [hell]

哎呀 Āiyā [Damn]

* * *

><p><em>A__N: And that's all for this story! Here's the part where I whine and beg you to write a review ;-) C'mon. Hit the button._

_Also, a question: Do you prefer longer chapters, less frequently? Or would you rather have shorter chapters, with more frequent updates?_


End file.
